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ISSN 2278-9529
Galaxy: International Multidisciplinary Research Journal
www.galaxyimrj.com
The Criterion: An International Journal in English Vol. 9, Issue-I, February 2018 ISSN: 0976-8165

Crocodile Tears
Original Odia Story: Chandrasekhar Dasburma
(Odisha Sahitya Akademi and Central Sahitya Akademi Award Winner)

Translated By: Dr. Manoranjan Mishra

Assistant Professor
Department of English
Government College (Auto.),
Angul, Odisha

After serving for thirty five years elsewhere, when we returned to the village, it seemed as if the
village had been transformed into an alien land. It took me and my wife some time before we
could win over the people. Initially, our children faced some difficulties in acclimatizing with the
village surroundings but they managed to establish sync with it later. School, college and other
offices had started opening in the village. The village was gradually proximating towards the
town. I marked changes in what people discussed. They were not putting on dhotis anymore but
had transformed themselves into city baboos, wearing pants and shirts. I remembered my school
friends after a few days of settling in the village. Most of them had disappeared – nobody knew
where. I heard only about one. He was Balabhadra. We all fondly called him ‘Balia’. He stayed
in the capital as he had become a minister. At times he came on official tours to the village in his
official car. When the schedule of his visit was announced, people were usually thrown into a
tizzy. The village roads were cleaned and welcome-gates were erected. People said,
“Balabhadrababu doesn’t belong only to this village but to the entire state. He is not only a
minister but God incarnate.” I remembered Balia having passed matriculation in six attempts,
that too with my help. He told me once, “Nilambar, I have been a complete failure. You all have
made yourselves worthy. Won’t I ever become successful?” that day I had jokingly told him,
“Why don’t you become a tout? At least, you can become the village Sarapanch, or an M.L.A. or
a minister. You can earn a lot of money that way.”

I was that the same Balia had become a minister. Time can bring about any change. What had I
got after thirty five years service? Only I had taught students, made men of them, but I was
unable to own a house or a car or a plot of land in Bhubaneswar. My unemployed son Ramesh
sat home. Even my daughter could not be settled anywhere. Finally, I returned to the village after
retirement and repaired the dilapidated house, just to spend the rest of the life there. Even then,
there was no end to the worries related to children. My wife would always get angry with me and
taunt me for my inability.

“Will you only keep sitting at home or do something for the children? You had told me once that
Balabhadra was your friend. He is the M.L.A. of this village and the minister. Why don’t you go
to him and speak about Ramesh?”

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The Criterion: An International Journal in English Vol. 9, Issue-I, February 2018 ISSN: 0976-8165

“What are you saying? Is he a man? So what, if he is a minister. He is an uneducated fool. You
think a person like Nilamber Ray should go to him. This can never happen.”

“So what? Even God had touched Donkey’s paw at the time of need. He is only a human being.
It’s true that you have taught some human beings, but he is managing the entire state. He is
teaching lessons in law to hundreds of human beings like you.”

“That’s why I say I’ll not go to him. Ramesh may or mayn’t have a job. He can manage himself
ploughing all the land that we have. We can manage with whatever pension we get.”

“Why did you let him receive so much education, then? You could have sent him to the village
from the very beginning. Besides, will you get our daughter married off or not? Just heed to my
small request – go there once. Something might come off.”

Finally, I had to accept defeat at the hands of my wife. I gathered information from the village
people. He had fixed Sunday as the day to listen to the grievances of only the people of his
village—from nine to twelve o’clock. On other days, he would listen to the grievances of people
of other areas, that too from nine to ten o’ clock. For his own people, the minister had set aside
three hours. Everybody praised Balabhadra lavishly for the generosity.

After much thought, I decided to try at least once. He may not recognise me … but no … he
would surely recognise me – as if someone spoke from within my heart.

That Sunday I left village very early because the people had said, “You have to reach early
otherwise you will not get any tickets.” Initially, I failed to understand what it meant but when I
reached the minister’s residence, I understood it clearly.

His Private Seretary, displaying a smiling face, said, “Please sit down a while, sir, it’s already
time …”

Then the peon came, handed over another paper and said, “Sir, your serial number is fifty-one.”

“Oh! Then, can’t we meet today?”

The peon smiled a careless smile and said, “Everybody gets five minutes. This way, fifty people
need two hundred and fifty minutes. That means, sir, you may meet him or may not. The
minister has to listen to everybody. Those who are left today … will get the opportunity next
Sunday.”

“Oh! It’s O.K.” I pulled the chair lying in one corner of the room and sat with a thud. Heaps of
abusive words came out of the mouth with the peon in mind. But, the peon had disappeared
somewhere else by then.

I cast a quick glance on all the characters that waited with worry writ large on their faces. Almost
all of them carried a paper each. The gentleman sitting next to me said, “Perhaps you have come

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The Criterion: An International Journal in English Vol. 9, Issue-I, February 2018 ISSN: 0976-8165

here for the first time, so you look worried. When you have come to the minister, should you
look so worried? He is a minister … is he a common human being like you and me?” Really, I
was completely drenched in sweat by then.

The peon went on reciting the names one by one.

“Sir, your serial Number is fifty two.”

“Take this one Sir, yours is fifty three.”

“Oh! It’s really very difficult to sit here.” I looked at the watch. It was fifteen minutes to nine.
Oh! Still fifteen minutes was left for my turn to come. But everybody got up with their papers.
Someone carried files whereas some other carried receipt books in the handbag. Someone else
carried a number of newspapers. Different types of people came with different works. I marked
them – ‘triumph’ was writ large on each face. Was Balabhadraprasad going to grant them boons?
In another corner of the room sat a group of young men, busy in their discussions.

Outside the waiting room, stood many people. Bringing an end to their worries, the first bell
rang. I looked at my watch again.

It was five minutes to nine. Really, Balabhadra had learnt how to respect time.

The Private Secretary went inside.

The peon closed the door and stood outside.

The second bell rang.

The peon went inside.

It was exactly nine o’ clock by the watch.

The peon came outside and called out loudly, “Amarendra Chaudhury, serial number one.” A lot
of commotion started inside the hall. Everybody became active though one of them went inside
first. The peon closed the door.

“Serial number two.”

One gentleman went inside with his wife.

“Serial number three.”

I marked that people entered from one side and exited at another. This was because people
entered from the waiting room side and went out through the outside verandah. I was not able to
see the people while they exited.

“Serial number four.”

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The Criterion: An International Journal in English Vol. 9, Issue-I, February 2018 ISSN: 0976-8165

“Serial number five.”

I looked at the watch. Everyone consumed three to four minutes. By the time my turn came, time
would be over. Would I have to wait till the next Sunday? Let’s see. Once I have come here I
must test my luck. It would be worse if Balabhadra failed to recognize me.

“Serial number six.”

When I looked inside, I saw that the people at number six were all young men. Perhaps they had
come to raise some subscription for the village club or perhaps with hopes to join politics or to
get license for wine shops or for shops to sell opium or Ganja. My heart started beating heavily
seeing the way they burst the minister’s chamber.

The peon shouted, “Sirs, why are so many of you entering at the same time?”

“Move aside, you fool.”

The door opened and closed.

We all stood up, scared.

After some time, the private secretary also came out.

There must be some secret discussion.

I looked inside the room, unable to control my anxiety in check. The minister looked very grim.

This was the same Balia … only he had grown obese… (Words came out of my mouth
unconsciously)

“Sir, Please don’t do this, Sir… private sir… entirely private”

Even then, I could not take my eyes back.

After all Balia was my friend.

The hippies were banging on the table and talking. The minister, at times, was smiling, whereas
at other moments, he was whispering something into the ears of one of them.

After a while, the minister took out a hundred rupee packet from the left side drawer and handed
it over to the man into whose ears he had whispered.

“O.K., Sir, we’ll manage with this … rest some other time.”

The minister raised his hand to say ‘namaskar’.

The bell rang up once again.

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The Criterion: An International Journal in English Vol. 9, Issue-I, February 2018 ISSN: 0976-8165

The Private Secretary went inside.

The next number was called out. I returned to my seat.

(I was utterly flabbergasted after watching all this. Ten thousand rupees. Oh! Balia has turned a
dacoit in the mean time.)

Time was gradually getting over.

Most of the people had left.

After some time, the time for the meeting would be over.

Those whose turn didn’t come would be required to come next Sunday. I grew restless and
worried.

“Will I not get a chance to meet him? I felt exasperated when I thought of next Sunday. I scolded
my wife many times silently. At this old age, I had to bend before Balia. Really, Ramesh didn’t
become successful … only because of him; I had to compromise with my dignity before such a
person. Lakhs and lakhs of students became successful with my effort. I have now to…”

“Serial no fifty one…”

“Sir, please go in quickly… also try to come out quickly… the time is going to finish… others
also have to go in.

I got up suddenly. What should I do? Where from to start and where to finish? At the thought of
this, the entire Punjabi of mine got drenched in sweat. The peon shouted once again, “Sir, please
go in quickly … the minister has to go on tour.”

“O.yes, yes… I am going.”

“Will Balia really recognise me?”

Lost in such thoughts, I entered the minister’s chamber hesitatingly. The fragrance of
sandalwood in the chamber fascinated me. On the four walls hung pictures of Mahatma Gandhi,
Jawaharlal Neheru, Indira Gandhi, Satyasai baba, Swami Sivanand, Takur Anukulchandra,
Thakur Nigamananda and many more. My mind changed completely.

“Hello, can’t you recognise me Professor sahib?”

I was startled. Before I could say ‘Namaskar’ with folded hands, he had already embraced me.
“Hey, you are saying Namaskar to me! … Have you gone mad? I am in politics but that doesn’t
mean I will forget my friends.”

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The Criterion: An International Journal in English Vol. 9, Issue-I, February 2018 ISSN: 0976-8165

I was living in a different dream world then. “Then … Balabhadra hasn’t forgotten me …Balia
hasn’t changed at all … I remained silent for some time.”

“Her, friend… Could you not recognise me? I thought you would have forgotten everybody after
becoming a minister… I am meeting you after such a long time.”

I marked Balabhadra intently. He had gone obese, no doubt. He wore an expensive dhoti and an
expensive Punjabi …hung a gold chain around his neck …had grown beard, in sync with his
facial appearance… He had expensive cigarettes on his table… had placed two or three coloured
phones, some paper and a few files.

“Hey, why are you looking like this, Professor Sahib? Tell me something about your family.
How are they? Have they grown up? What are you doing after retirement?” He buried me with
many such questions. He stopped for a moment and instructed his secretary, “Tell others, I’m
sorry for not being able to meet them today. Ask them to come next Sunday.” The Private
Secretary went out. Only I and Balabhadra were left in the room.

Really, professor, when I saw you, I was reminded of my childhood. Only because of that I
drove everyone away. We two meet each other today after twelve or fourteen years. Let’s talk
our hearts out. What do you say? Tell me… Why did you so suddenly remember Balia? You
must be thinking about how I became a minister. That is only a contribution of my fate line, my
sweet talks, and my cunningness. In this field, there is no nees for any education. The custom
with political is, “Don’t at all tell the truth, don’t reject the words of others outright.” These are
the ground rules of politics. I have been following these golden rules thoroughly. That’s why,
you must have marked, how our village people simply adore me.

“Really, Balabhadra, our village people consider you God.”

Ha! Ha! Ha! The honourable minister laughed loudly. After that we discussed a lot about each
other’s family. I reminded him at one point, “You were talking about going on a tour. I have
taken much of your time.” Balabhadra again laughed loudly. “Hey, those plans are just to get rid
of people. Friend, now let’s talk about other things.”

During the discussion, I spoke about Ramesh.

He had passed in first division but had not landed on a suitable job. Should the son of a teacher
like me, sit at home, unemployed? Wherever he went people demanded money. Your Bhauja has
sent me here forcibly. The Education Department is going to engage some adhoc lecturers. There
also, bribes are being given. If you request the Education Minister, the job may be done. Besides,
his younger sister is also ready for marriage. She has also passed B.A.. If the son gets into
something, I would think of the daughter’s marriage.

Balabhadra picked up the phone even though I had not completed.

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The Criterion: An International Journal in English Vol. 9, Issue-I, February 2018 ISSN: 0976-8165

“Is the Education Minister there?”

“I’m Balabhadra Das, the Supplies minister.”

“Namaskar! Are you doing well, brother?”

“What’s the news, Rambabu? Your Education Department is doing quite fine. Schools and
colleges are being opened everywhere. New posts are being sanctioned too. What about the case
which I had talked to you about?”

“Oh! Thank you … Thank you very much… I have something else to request you for. Your
department has advertised for posts of adhoc lecturers. One of my close relations has applied for
the job. But you know the times very well… yes, yes… his name is Ramesh Chandra Ray. Please
see to it that he gets it… I’m making necessary arrangements.”

“OK.,OK., I will see… But, did you note the name? Namaskar…” The honourable minister put
the receiver down.

“Friend, the job is almost done. Only fifteen days are left for the interview… then he will get the
job… tell bhauja to bring me sweets… I will not feel good if I don’t eat sweets from Bhauja’s
hands.”

I didn’t get appropriate language with which to thank Balabhadra. Only, drops of happy tear
rolled down. I embraced Balabhadra excitedly. “Hey, you… you are my friend. It’s my duty to
help you.”

The expected five minute meeting had already consumed fifteen minutes. I got up.. paid
obeisance to God.. also to Balabhadra.

By the time I reached home that day, it was already evening. I could hear happy noises all
around. The moment my wife heard me she said, “You know, I went to the Jagannath temple. A
flower dropped from the lord’s head the moment I got up after paying my obeissance. Finally,
the lord heard my prayers… go to the temple and pay respect to the lord.” I added, “Balia has
changed a lot… God has given him the skill to embrace an outsider and convert him into one of
his own.”

Thereafter, days flowed by like water. Time didn’t wait for anyone. Ramesh appeared at the
interview. He was confident of getting the job with the minister’s intervention. Balabhadra was a
powerful minister. Word had spread in the village that nobody dared act against his wishes.

It was the following Sunday after the interview. I reached at the minister’s residence at the
appointed hour. This time when the peon heard my name, he saluted me. He informed, “Sir has
ordered me to let in as soon as you reach. Your needs will be attended to before that of others.” I
felt overjoyed.

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That day, Balabhadra embraced me when he saw me. He said, “Brother, I knew you would come
today. So, I have already talked to the Education Minister over phone. He said everything had
been finalised. It will take another five or six days. Come after another fifteen days. I’ll write a
letter. Meet the Education Minister with the letter and take the appointment letter from him. Only
then ask Bhauja to serve me sweets; is it fine? What news have you carried from the village? Are
all the villagers well? I haven’t visited my constituency for a long time. The people must be
thinking Balabhadra isn’t taking care of his village. What to do? Now I have to take care of the
entire state. Eventhough I wish to visit the people of my village, I don’t get sufficient time for
that. Therefore, I have fixed a particular time every Sunday to meet the people of our village.”
Balabhadra said this very proudly and laughed a hearty laugh.

Balabhadra – How should I thank him? I searched for words to praise him but in vain. While
taking leave, I only told him, “Balabhadra, I don’t know how to repay you for the kindness you
have bestowed on me. But, I’ll try to repay it somehow.” Balabhadra rested his hands on my
shoulders and said, “Those things can be taken care of later; let Ramesh get his job first.”

That evening I returned home and told everything to my wife. She heard without any display of
emotion. She only said, “It’s OK, everything depends on the wishes of Lord Jagannath; what else
can we do?”

I waited – with much patience – carrying much hope.

The next time, the minister’s answers were different. However, there was no dearth of good
treatment. The minister said, “The Education Minister is very busy. Of course, he has promised
to do your job. The election time is approaching. That’s why he isn’t getting any time. Tell me,
what else I can do. This is politics. However, I’m dealing with your problem myself. You
needn’t come so frequently. Tell everybody at home, I’ll visit you myself and handover the
appointment letter there.”

It came out of my mouth suddenly, “You had told me that everything had been finalised and that
if I carried your letter, I would get the order… but…”

“ Yes… Of course I had said that but for that, the minister must be available at the headquarters.
Don’t be worried at all. Is Ramesh only your son? Is he not like my son?”

That day I realised I had gone off the track and following a mirage only. I worried about how to
console the family members on return.

I didn’t have to tell anything at home this time. My wife only told me, “What has made you so
tired? You needn’t go to Bhubaneswar again.”

Of course, I took very long to forget the hurt. After that I didn’t visit Bhubaneswar for a very
long time.

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The Criterion: An International Journal in English Vol. 9, Issue-I, February 2018 ISSN: 0976-8165

About one year after that incident, I went to Bhubaneswar on some work. Suddenly, I met the
Private Secretary of the minister. During the discussion he said, “I am not Balabhadrababu’s
private secretary anymore.”

“Have you been transferred?”

“Yes Sir. Did your son get the job?”

“No, he didn’t. I ran many times but finally became hopeless.”

“You are not the only person, sir; there are many more like you. So long as you take care of the
minister, he will take care of you in return. When he feels you are not taking care of him
anymore, then he will start avoiding you.”

I looked at his face in surprise. Did Balabhadra really except something from me?

Looking at the storm of numerous questions arising within me, the former Private Secretary
smiled and said, “I’m no more the minister’s Private Secretary; hence there is no harm in
exposing his tricks. You must have seen two or three phones on the minister’s table – they are
used sparingly when required. Suppose the minister wants that your job should be done, he’ll
pick up and use the red phone. If he doesn’t want your job to be done, he’ll pick up the black
phone. That phone has no connection with the outer world. He uses the trick just to make fool of
the people. I was surprised when he used the black phone for a friend like you. The day I got a
hint of his secret tricks, I was transferred to another department.

I praised Balabhadra silently; he was the fittest parson to become a minister.

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